


Like a Breeze in the Night (Part 4)

by LymneirianApparition



Series: Like a Breeze in the Night [4]
Category: Pathfinder (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Multi, Original Character(s), Pathfinder - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 18:22:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11110251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LymneirianApparition/pseuds/LymneirianApparition
Summary: Simoun and Drinma commune in the wake of their passion, but the morning after brings disturbing revelations of more than one kind.





	Like a Breeze in the Night (Part 4)

Like A Breeze In The Night – Part 4

The mighty warrior woman Seelah lay resplendent upon her bed, nude and sleeping the sleep of the just. Her chiseled ebony body gleamed in the moonlight, every hard plane of muscle showing her to be no less dangerous for how she slumbered. But she was as feminine as she was dangerous, her full hips and breasts soft and ripe for the taking, and taken they had been by her spent lover who slept beside her. But the Paladin of the war goddess Iomedae clearly ruled, even while dreaming, looking every inch a study of queenship painted furtively by night: the very pinnacle of grace and majesty within the mystery that is woman.

The Paladin shifted in her sleep and her right arm flopped over, right across the other woman's face. Channa-Ti stirred just enough to emit a few irritated grunts while she slapped at the other woman's flank with her hand. Seelah never stirred, but eventually she lolled over onto her side, removing the offending limb from the longsuffering Druid's face. Channa-Ti flounced onto her side as well and yanked the sheet up to her chin in anger. But seconds later she too slept gently once again.

On the other bed, the Sylph lovers Simoun and Drinma struggled to keep their laughter quiet.

“So that's why you need two beds,” Drinma chortled in a sussurus. 

Simoun's reply was like a breeze beneath a door. “That and most inns don't have beds that comfortably sleep three. But even when they do Seelah usually winds up exiled. Sometimes I think she dreams about warfare. She might as well, for the pummeling we take sleeping beside her.

“I like her pummeling,” Drinma said in a licentious drift. Her hand slipped down to her mons and briefly framed the fringe of soft, white hair that marked the cleft of her cunt. Not that much earlier in the evening Seelah had engaged Drinma in some truly ferocious tribadism, the human pounding her pussy into the Sylph's over and over, making her cum by sheer brute force. Simoun would have been jealous had the young thief not stolen several orgasms right out of her loins mere minutes thereafter.

“Yes, well, stay with us and I think you'll find there's a lot to like about all of us.” During their brief acquaintance, Simoun had become absolutely fascinated by Drinma's nipples. She lowered her mouth to one and let it become the center of her tongue's silent hurricane. Drinma rolled onto her back to allow her better access, her gasps sounding like a wind in the eaves that foretells winter's chill.

They were speaking in Auran, the language that all offspring and descendants of the Plane of Elemental Air know by heart: a language whose airy syllables reduced their whispered conversation to little more than breezes that bore no chance of waking their sleeping companions.

Simoun stopped before Drinma could get too hot and bothered, which was well because they had been marathoning sex since just before sunset and at this point the exhaustion of yet another orgasm would have her sleeping until sunset the next day! Drinma couldn't afford that. Besides, she and Simoun needed to talk, to commune in every way they could, and the fact that they could do so in a language not shared by others fascinated her to no end.

“I still can't believe we can just talk like this: that this is actually a language.”

“I at least grew up knowing what it was,” Simoun exhaled. “Apparently to others it's strange to be born knowing a language. To me, it's strange to be born not knowing one.”

“I was a precocious and imaginative child. My father would tell people I was so clever, making up my own language that sounded like the desert wind. I guess it sounded plausible enough; like something that a child would do. I even believed I had made it up.”

Drinma's face became shadowed and the wind grew still. No stranger to father-daughter struggles herself, Simoun immediately followed the thread.

“He knew. And he never told you.”

“He didn't even tell me that he was my real father! He always said he found me in the desert as a baby. I'd been kidnapped by witches who tattooed my skin and altered my body with magic and that's why I look the way I do. As I grew up, I suspected that was not true; that from birth I had not been entirely human. It wasn't until after he passed away that I learned the truth. It took meeting people here in Wati who had known him for me to find out that he really had been my own blood!”

Simoun sniffed at this in haughty dismissal. “Bastard.”

“That's just it. He wasn't. Life was an adventure with him. He loved me and taught me things. I learned music. I...” She paused and Simoun felt her drawing away from her for the very first time. “While we were together everything was fine. That's why him lying to me doesn't make any sense. When he died, my happiness died. Until tonight.”

Whatever secrets Drinma hid about her father, Simoun felt the sincerity in those last words so keenly that it hurt her. Even the Auran language could not suffice to contain the depth of feelings swelling in her core and the two Sylphs pulled together to staunch terrible, intimate need rising within them in response to one another. Their legs intertwined and Simoun's fingers pulled longingly down Drinma's back, painting momentary red intersections upon the azure lines inscribed there. She pulled the girl on top her, having reached that point of total emotional surrender such as she had not felt since that first night with Seelah and Channa-Ti. 

“I'm in love with you,” she said to the woman who lay with her breasts pressed into her own; not only said, but pleaded. Forsaking Auran, she spoke the words in the common tongue to allow the whole world to know, even if there was no one else awake to hear it. Drinma answered with her body, with her mouth. Had they been alone they might have made love again, but the need between them was too passionate and intimate even for copulation to express. For Simoun it was not merely a desire to merge bodies, but a yearning for the merging of their lives.

“I want to make you happy every night. When you come with us, you will see.”

Drinma rested her head upon Simoun's chest in response. “If every night of my life could be like right now, then I would be happy forever.”

“You will be. I won't lie: we are constantly in danger, always on the run. But together you and I will be unstoppable. And you will never have to be lonely again.”

Drinma's skillful fingers traced down Simoun's cheek. “I want that. You don't know how much I want that.”

“It's yours.” Simoun said this last in Auran and Drinma caught the breezy utterance like a blown kiss. She slowly opened her fingers to reveal nothing.

“I've heard so many promises, been betrayed so many times. Holding onto words might as well be holding onto the wind.”

Simoun reached up and locked those fingers in hers. “We are the wind. And tomorrow we go where we choose.

Drinma slowly lay her head upon Simoun's breast and listened to her beating heart. “Yes, my love. Yes we do.”

She felt the other Sylph's arms enfold her and one last Auran word fluttered over her in the night. 

“Together.”  
***

When Simoun awoke to an empty room. Seelah and Channa-Ti were gone. Seelah's hulking suit of plate armor still sat stacked but other pieces of the women's gear was missing. But so was Drinma and that did not make sense at all. Their frolick the previous night notwithstanding, Simoun found it unlikely the wily cutpurse would trust the others to just venture out with them together without her. Daylight had come to the city of Wati, but Simoun began flinging on her discarded clothing, readying herself for an onslaught of darkness that she knew she could not avoid.

She was fully dressed and tying on her sandals when Seelah and Channa-Ti entered, girded for battle. Seelah was clad in a suit of crocodile hide they had acquired along the way and not yet had a chance to sell: a less durable but much more rapidly-donned suit of armor than her knight's full plate. More troubling was Channa-Ti wearing the Armor of Ahkentepi. Her disdain for armor was high even by Druid standards so for her to be out and about clad in it proclaimed that the situation was dire. But more dire still was the lack of the other Sylph.

Seelah spoke before Simoun could. “Where's Drinma?”

Simoun's heart sank, the leather sandal laces going slack in her hands. “She's not with you?”

“Do you remember how we told Terhk Fourwinds to send a runner if he heard about anything that might interest us?” Channa-Ti said, crossing to where the rest of her gear lay and evading the question. “Well he did, about two hours before dawn. A body taken out of the Necropolis, and I mean a fresh one. I guess a band of the Dark Folk found him before the ghouls could and decided to make nice with the Pharasmins by turning the corpse over to them. The Voices of the Spire don't know how he got in there or who killed him.”

“A dead person inside the Necropolis that the Voices cannot account for is not good.”

As Seelah had stated the obvious, Channa-Ti ignored her interruption and continued. “Here's where it gets interesting for us: the fellow's murder doesn't fit the method of any of the known players within the Necropolis, he had an X-shaped wound over his heart, freshly sealed.”

This shocker temporarily blew back the clouds of Simoun's despair. “The same as those bodies we found in the desert.”

“The same,” Seelah said grimly, shrugging out of her crocodile skins and making ready to don her more familiar armor now that she had the time for it. “Which means those same cultists who've harried us off and on are now here inside the city!”

“So they killed that man. But why leave his body lying out in the Necropolis for the Voices of the Spire to find?”

“That's what we went out to try and learn,” said Channa-Ti. “I wanted to wake the two of you, but Seelah didn't have the heart. She said the two of us could handle it.”

Seelah eyed her curiously. “We did.”

Channa-Ti glared back. For all that she loved the woman, Seelah could be utterly thick at times.

Simoun had no time for it. “But if Drinma didn't go with you...” Alarm overcame her and she finally saw what confusion and denial had prevented her from seeing until that moment. She lunged across the floor for her weapons belt, sandal hanging half-off her foot and not caring about it one whit as she scooped up her belt and the square of parchment that had been folded neatly tucked into a sheath alongside one of her blades.

“Son of a _BITCH!_ The fucking kukri is gone!”

Seelah reached for Simoun to console her, but when the latter backed away, shouting “Don't touch me!” she sighed and went to the corner to begin exchanging her crocodile hide armor for the heavier plate. Channa-Ti was more circumspect, hovering nearby – but not too near – while Simoun read the note Drinma had left. It was addressed using a title in Auran which had no easy counterpart in the common tongue, but which is most easily translated as...

_Beloved,_

_I can only imagine your anger now; your confusion. I am a thief but I am not cruel, and so for one night I let you have the dream of us and fully shared in it as much as you. But now it must be said that I never actually said I would go with you. You assumed that I would, but I never actually agreed. Likewise, I never actually confessed that I would not steal from you again. Not even with the wonderful torment of Channa Ti's fingers inside me did I actually admit that._

_I know you will not believe me if I say that I leave you for a good reason, or that I steal from you for that a good reason as well. I do not deserve for you to, and so I do not ask it. But the truth is, my life and choices are not my own. I cannot simply leave Wati, though my hands risk decorating the Pillar of Second Thoughts every single day. I cannot leave, though every single day I dream of it._

_Last night, lying in your arms was the closest to freedom that I have ever come. I lie beside you, pretending to fall asleep, forcing myself to keep awake. Because I knew that if I woke up beside you in the morning that I would be yours truly, body and soul, and I would go with you – consequences be damned._

_But that cannot be. Must never be. As I have told you, my life is not my own._

_Even knowing that, even staying awake, I faltered. When Channa Ti and Seelah were awakened by the messenger and left I knew it was my last chance; that if I did not leave then, then I never would. Do not try to follow me. Do not try to find me. Thank you for your love. I will carry it in my heart until my last breath. Thank you for teaching me what I am, but I shall be lonelier now for knowing it, and may that be the revenge on me that I know you desire and deserve._

_But we are the wind. And the wind cannot stay._

_-Drinma_

As Simoun read and reread the letter, Channa-Ti finally went and did a quick inventory of her possessions while Seelah – clad now in most of her armor – did the same. 

“Looks like I didn't have anything stolen. What about you, Seelah? You good?”

“No,” the Paladin grumbled. “The sash from my nightgown is gone.”

“Your nightgown?”

“The one I wore last night. I keep looking and looking and it's just not here. It's gone! Why would she steal just the sash and not the whole gown?”

Channa-Ti brushed at the side of her neck with her forefinger and with a sidelong glance at Simoun, circumspectly muttered, “She had hickies on her neck.”

“Oh.”

Perhaps Simoun heard this exchange, for the paper began to shake in her trembling hands. A single tear could be seen to fall from her and splatter the surface.

“Simoun,” Seelah coaxed, no less uneasy about approaching her than Channa-Ti now was. “What does it say? Please, let us help you. Tell us what it says.”

The trembling stopped. No more tears fell. Simoun folded the letter and slipped it back into the sheath where she had found it. With taut, angry movements she finished tying her sandal. “You said those cultists are here? And they killed a man last night?”

The two darker women exchanged a cautious glance. “Yes,” the Paladin said.

Simoun rose and fastened the belt of knives around her waist. Securing the letter inside a pouch sewn inside the neckline of her dress, she picked up a chakram and carried it ready to throw as she strode toward the door. “Then let's go kill some cultists.”

She strode out into the corridor leaving Seelah and Channa-Ti to gawk at one another until the Sylph's angry voice shot back into the room like a lightning bolt.

“Are you two coming?”

By dusk their room in the House of Dawn's Drift stood deserted. Every trace of the love that had joined the four women together had vanished like a breeze in the night.


End file.
